


Goretober 2 - Amputation

by Ryenan



Series: Goretober 2017 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amputation, Gore, Goretober, M/M, Trauma, battlefield medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryenan/pseuds/Ryenan
Summary: Stiles doesn’t want to turn. The lingering magic of the nogitsune probably won't let him, which means he'll die. Stiles doesn't want to die.





	Goretober 2 - Amputation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Goretober - Steter + Amputation. Not particularly graphic.

Stiles doesn’t want to turn. The lingering magic of the nogitsune probably won't let him, which means he'll die. Stiles doesn't want to die.

* * *

 

From all of the villains and monsters they have ever dealt with, Stiles has learned a few things:

One - Older means stronger. Grey hair does not mean an easier opponent. Youth and vigor are no match for old age and treachery.

Two - The more contenders involved, the worse it is, and the longer it takes to clean it up. Proof:

  * Argent Clan, eight years
  * Alpha Pack, one year
  * Theo and the chimeras, seven months
  * Rogue Omega, one week



Three - it's easier to stop people who don't look human.

 That's why Stiles never wanted to deal with another pack. Lots of members, they look human, and there's always someone old and strong – Satomi and her pack fit all of these conditions. Satomi herself is nearly a hundred and fifty, her pack is massive, and they're all kind and productive members of society. But no matter how Stiles spells it out, Scott won't believe that they’re dangerous.

“Their homes - their whole town – burned, Stiles, they’re refugees! And they need our help!”

“They're dangerous, and Satomi is demented! as in has dementia, or Alzheimer's, or, or, something! She's practically feral, and even her pack is scared of her, Scott!”

“She's stressed, Stiles! Her home burned! Some of her family died! How old is she, eighty? She looks fine! She wasn’t acting that weird – “

“She growled at me, Scott! She called me a monster, and she's one hundred and fifty some odd years old, okay? She lived through World War II.”

“Stiles is right, Scott, she was with my mother in Oak Creek - the internment camp.”

Kira takes his arm and Scott relaxes some, shifting out of the defensive posture he had unconsciously slipped into while arguing.

“What's done is done. I gave her permission, as Alpha of Beacon Hills, for her pack to stay here until it's safe for them to go home. I won't take back my word.”

“Just keep your guard up, Scott.”

 

 

 

 Peter approaches Stiles in the parking deck as everyone starts to filter out of the loft later that night. He hovers near the front bumper as Stiles makes a show of slowly packing blankets and pillows in the back of his Jeep.

“Night Stiles!”

“See-ya, Scott!”

And then they're alone.

“Yes, Peter?”

Peter is very good at sliding into Stiles’ space when he's not looking, so Stiles has made a habit of always looking when it's just the two of them.

So Peter has gotten bolder.

He sidles forward, only stopping when Stiles puts a hand against his chest to stop him.

“Your place or mine?”

“No. Peter, not with Satomi in town! There are too many more wolves to avoid.”

“Oh, yes, exactly because Satomi is in town,” Peter says, mimicking Stiles harshly. “I don't want to die, you don't want to die, we're safer together and sex is just a bonus.”

As loathe as he is to admit it, Stiles knows Peter is right. The growling and muttering Satomi sent his way was neigh on terrifying, and he can scrub the scent of sex off like a professional now. But he doesn't want to agree and have to watch Peter gloat.

He doesn't have to come up with an answer because Peter is shoving suddenly him bodily into the back of the Jeep.

“Get your bat. Satomi is here.”

“Peter – “

He can't tell where she is, the parking deck echoes so badly. He can smell her though. Stiles slithers over the seats of the jeep to dig around in the front. He clambers back out of the jeep bracing one hand on Peter’s shoulder to jump down, and clutching not his bat but an Argent gun in the other hand.

He ends up pulling them both to the ground, because as soon as his feet touch the concrete he’s being hauled under the jeep. He’s drawn under on his stomach, arms thrown out above his head, and he scrapes his back against the bumper painfully as he falls.

He doesn’t have time to be stunned, because there are fangs – wolf fangs – in his leg, and he doesn’t want to die.

He doesn’t want to die.

Stiles twists his upper body, steadies the massive gun against his hip, and shoots the wolf through the eyes and his own toes.

Peter is hauling him out from under the jeep as the wolf turns back to human – Satomi.

“Fuck, Stiles, stop screaming!”

Stiles starts to hyperventilate with Peter’s hand clamped over his mouth, but he does shut up. There’s blood oozing from his ankle, but it’s not the right color – it’s already turning black.

“Axe, the axe, get the axe out of the jeep!”

Stiles sits up jerkily and pulls his pants leg up. The black blood is discoloring the veins visible under his pale skin, but it’s moving pretty slowly for how fast his heart is going. Peter finds the axe quickly enough, buried under the blankets and trash.

“Stiles – “

“Look, look at the black. You have to –“ He chokes, gags, starts to cry – “You have to cut it off, Peter, before it spreads further, you have to. I don’t want to die, Peter.”

“You’re not going to die. Put your belt around your thigh, all the way up, as tight as you can,” Peter orders, while snapping the protective cap off the axe and getting to his feet.    

“Done? On the count of three. One, Two, “

Stiles screams as the axe falls, and passes out before the axe even hits concrete.

“Three.”

 

 

 

“Derek, don’t speak, just listen. Satomi is in the parking deck. Make her, and the leg, disappear, make sure Lydia is alive, call the pack, and then come to the hospital. And the axe, get rid of the axe. Bye.”

 

 

 

Stiles wakes up in the emergency room and immediately returns to screaming. The doctors are barely aware he’s awake they are so focused on getting his leg prepped for surgery. Peter and the nurses hear him, however.

“Stiles?” Peter is yelling from the waiting room, hoping Stiles can hear him over the din of his own incessant wailing. The nurses are fluttering about his bed, holding his hand, trying to convince him to calm down, let the doctors work, but he won’t stop.

Peter is pressed against the locked door of the room, yelling right back, until a nurse lets him in. She leads him around a tangle of wires and machines until he can wrap a hand around Stiles’ arm and look at him.

Stiles is pale and sweaty, lips white and cracked and eyes wild, pupils blown. Peter can’t pull the pain from him, hasn’t been able to pull pain since the fire, but he can help calm him down. The screams turn to gasps and stuttering breaths, and finally to something resembling steady breathing when they shoot his leg full of lorazepam.

“We have to take him to surgery, now. Where’s the rest of his leg?”

“Gone. It – I – gone – “ Peter stutters out, acting as shocked as he can so they’ll stop asking. A nurse has slipped an oxygen mask over Stiles’ face, so he’s prevented from adding anything.

The doctors wheel Stiles out of the room towards the OR, and the nurses converge on Peter. They usher him from the room, and the only thing he can think to do is ask for Melissa McCall.

 

“Peter?” Melissa leads him to an empty corner of the ER floor, whispering. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story. Right now we need a plausible story.”

“What happened? The truth, Peter.”

Peter looks at her, and she looks back up at him, and he sighs.

“I cut his leg off with a camping axe.”


End file.
